


A Farewell to Arms

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: In which Stiles says goodbye to his baseball bat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is based on a writing prompt from Pure Fandom. It was supposed to be 300 words max, but what can I say? I'm wordy.
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd by anyone, its just something fun I wrote in an afternoon to get some non-Stydia writing practice in.
> 
> Thanks for reading and letting me know what you think!

Stiles shouldn’t be this emotional about giving away a bat. But, it wasn’t like this was a _normal_ bat.

Of course, like a lot of things, it _started out_ normal. It was wrapped in an awkward configuration of paper and ribbon (“Do you have a better suggestion on how to wrap it, Claudia?” he had heard his dad say, exasperatedly), and Stiles ripped into it on his fifth birthday, a look of sheer joy on his face when he saw the red Rawlings script on the barrel.

“Dad! Can we go play now? Please?”

His childhood was sunny days, ball in one hand, his bat in the other. They would take turns hitting and catching. Stiles started out pretty clumsily, but if he focused on one skill at a time, he made good progress. He enjoyed catching with the glove, a face-splitting grin emerging every time the seams met the webbing without a miss.

But his favorite was hitting. Hitting had a science-like specificity to it, and Stiles committed to becoming a physics expert. He worked on maximizing the power from his small frame. He figured out the best stance for his feet, adjusting slightly as his feet grew and his arms lengthened with time. He fine-tuned his grip on the bat, where to best hold it above his right shoulder, to achieve maximum velocity at the point of impact. He learned to pivot his hips with accurate timing to release the most power behind the swing.

The bat felt like an extension of Stiles’ arm. The countless afternoons of batting practice wore down the grips and slowly erased the red lettering, but couldn’t touch the feeling that came when he made direct contact with the ball, sailing it out of sight across an open field.

But in Beacon Hills, things didn’t stay normal for long. And even a relationship as innocuous as the one between a boy and his baseball bat changes. It was no longer needed for pickup games in the park, or for playing catch with dad.  Suddenly, terrifyingly, it was a weapon.

“You’ve got claws, I’ve got a bat.”

It always elicited an eye-roll when it showed up in his hands, but it was the catalyst for ill-fated confidence for its owner. He marched into battles where he was hopelessly outnumbered or out-skilled armed with the bat and a prayer.

But just as Stiles changed the bat into a weapon, in a cruel twist of fate, the bat also changed Stiles, leaving him open to a spirit that would change his soul forever. And in the process, the relationship between the boy and the bat lost its innocence.

He was no longer a boy watching the ball sail high into the sun. He was now the man, staring at a tool that had nearly led to his own destruction, but had also saved the lives of him, his friends and his family on more than a few occasions. 

He held it away from his body and placed it in the Jeep, willing it to provide more of the safety and less of the destruction to Mason, its intended recipient. He stared at it over the back of the tailgate, struck again by its innocuousness.

He reached out and ran the pads of his fingers over the well-worn grip tape. The red lettering, formerly bold and proud, now faded and barely legible. The barrel that was once clear and smooth was now nicked and worn. The core had endured some mighty blows--how long would it hold up before it collapsed from the pressure?

He wondered when the parallel between his life and the life of his bat had become so blurred.


End file.
